


We still are made of greed (this is my kingdom come)

by Lizicia



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crime AU, F/M, Swearing, drug AU, no drug use but drug trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4544730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizicia/pseuds/Lizicia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'The thing is, Bellamy Blake didn’t get into the drug business because it was his childhood dream. He got into it because when his mother died and left him a business he had no idea she had been running, and the custody of his baby sister, it seemed like the easiest thing to do.<br/>Which is why Clarke Griffin will probably prove to be a pain in the ass with her largest supply chain on the East Coast which she didn’t build but inherited like the perfect princess she probably is.'</p>
<p>Or the crime family/drug dealers AU nobody asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We still are made of greed (this is my kingdom come)

**Author's Note:**

> First The 100 and Bellarke fic! I am jumping into the deep end with a crime/drugs AU.  
> This story will feature most of the main characters, not all of them tagged but you can expect the usual.  
> There is a lot of swearing because drug dealer/crime lord Bellamy has a potty-mouth.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not support or condone the use and trafficking of drugs. This story is purely a work of fiction.

“What the fucking fuck.”

In a perfect world, Bellamy Blake would be looking at the fresh shipment of merchandise from the Philippines, packed with care and sent to him through customs loopholes, bribes and elegantly complicated planning routes.

Instead, there is a vast emptiness.

“What the _fuck_.”

“You’re becoming a bit repetitive, you know?”

He swirls around at the voice behind him, hand reaching for the gun he keeps tucked in the waistband of his jeans and points it about at the heart of the other person.

Except that person is a petite blonde in black shorts and his target is her forehead.

“Woah, easy there.”

She doesn’t lose her cool, doesn’t even flinch but points her finger at his general chest area and smiles. “Looks like you got something there.”

Bellamy looks down and fuck this day, there is a red dot dancing on his shirt and he does not fucking need this right now.

“You better lower your weapon; Monroe is an _excellent_ shot. Never bring _a_ gun to a firefight; don’t you know anything about drug trafficking?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

He doesn’t lower his weapon but she doesn’t seem too concerned about it, only bows slightly and makes a mock curtsy.

“Clarke Griffin. And I believe the pleasure is all mine.”

Now he stares at her even more intently because there is no way that he is being intimidated by Clarke Griffin, the newly minted heir of the Griffin crime family, the largest trafficker of drugs on the coast. Mostly because he never figured Clarke Griffin would be a hot blonde with a knack for pissing him off.

“Did you fucking steal my drugs?”

“I prefer the term ‘appropriated’.”

“That was my merchandise.”

She shrugs. “Well, I needed it more, so now it is mine. Pleasure doing business with you, Blake.”

He never told her his name and the shock must be evident on his face because she smiles smugly. “I make it my business to know my business.”

“Fuck you, _princess_.”

He snarls the last word but she only smiles, less like Mona Lisa, and more like a shark. “Only if you ask nicely.”

She walks away with a wave of her hand and he is irritated and angry because he didn’t really sign up for this. He is even angrier about the fact that he is incredibly attracted to her.

The thing is, Bellamy Blake didn’t get into the drug business because it was his childhood dream. He got into it because when his mother died and left him a business he had no idea she had been running, and the custody of his baby sister, it seemed like the easiest thing to do.

So naturally he branched out of the Philippines, moved to the States with Octavia and set up shop. His trade routes work solely on favors and familial connections, his merchandise moves on ships which only belong to people he knows and trusts and every sell he makes is vetted and thoroughly calculated beforehand.

Which is why Clarke Griffin will probably prove to be a pain in the ass with her largest supply chain on the East Coast which she didn’t build but inherited like the perfect princess she probably is.

He just wants to forget about her and the fact that she stole his goods but he knows he probably can’t.

That much proves to be true three weeks later when she intercepts another one of his shipments. This time, he doesn’t go alone so he takes great pleasure in pointing his gun at Clarke Griffin from behind.

“Fancy meeting you here, princess.”

He can see that he startles her slightly. Still, as she turns around, there is no fear on her face but she takes in Miller and Murphy who are flanking him and nods thoughtfully.

“Well, I take it you learned a lesson or two.”

She doesn’t look the slightest bit guilty and he catches the glint of metal in her hand. He is trying not to be impressed by how fast and undetected she got the blade out.

“Bringing a knife to a gunfight? Not very smart.”

She unfurls her fingers and he sees that the blade is sharp and serious, and possibly very deadly. “You have no idea what I can do with this knife in a firefight.”

“Are you stealing my stuff again?”

“ _Appropriating_ , Blake. And no, this time someone beat me to it.”

He looks past her at the crates which have been left behind and the intricate symbol marking them. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, Grounders. You’ve really pissed them off because they haven’t even really stolen anything. Just messed with it.”

He strides up to the crates and swears even more colorfully because she’s right. The merchandise has been doused with some sort of chemical which he could smell from a mile away and while it is intact, it is completely useless.

“At least I made use of it. They just wanted to fuck with you, huh?”

Her tone is full of delight and he closes his eyes briefly against it, not letting her get to him.

“How do we know it wasn’t you, huh? You could’ve just faked it.”

Murphy’s voice is threatening and he can hear the undercurrent of barely leashed nervous energy in it; Murphy is a brilliant enforcer when he’s not being mentally unstable and Bellamy knows he’s not far from it now.

“I would’ve used it, you idiot. God, Blake, are all your men so stupid? No wonder you get robbed all the time.”

“What the fuck did you call me, you b-“

“ _Enough_.”

He turns around and glances at Clarke – still completely unperturbed – before heading back to Murphy.

“We don’t need a bloodbath right now.”

Murphy glares at him and doesn’t change his stance.

“John.”

Miller interferes finally and his sharp command is enough to make Murphy lower his weapon but Bellamy can tell he is just itching for a fight.

“So what did you do to make the Grounders not just steal but destroy the drugs? It must’ve been something really shitty.”

He doesn’t bother responding to her taunt but grits his teeth in frustration and simply walks away, Miller and Murphy in tow. It is a question he doesn’t really have an answer for but knows that she is right – no self-respecting drug trafficker would destroy a perfectly good shipment, unless there was some major bad blood going on.

He’s still trying to figure it out later, sitting in the least offensive club he could find on the waterfront, sipping his drink and droning out the mind-numbing music because he would rather let Clarke Griffin steal from him a thousand times more than voluntarily hang at a club, but he must be visible, and this is his only concession.

“Well, speak of the devil.”

Clarke Griffin walks up to this table, in a gorgeous red dress which leaves nothing to the imagination, and is guaranteed to make an appearance in his dreams later on.

“And she shall appear.” He finishes the sentence for her, letting the acidity bleed into his voice to make it very clear just how unwanted her presence is.

But she only smiles sharply and sits down next to him. Up close, her eyes are a clear blue even in the dark light of the club and she smells warm and inviting and dangerous.

“I didn’t say you could sit.”

“Not my problem if your mother didn’t teach you any manners, Blake.”

He winces involuntarily at her jab and isn’t good at concealing it because she narrows her eyes but doesn’t comment, probably filing that knowledge away somewhere for future benefit.

Instead, she pours herself a healthy measure of _lambanóg_ and proceeds to take a sip even if he’s certain she has no idea what she’s drinking because this is something the club only keeps on hand for him.

But she doesn’t react at all, merely falls slightly back into the cushion on the couch and glances at him. “I was thinking we should do business together.”

Now it’s his turn to stare because he never thought she would make an offer, any kind of offer to him, much less something so audacious and frankly ludicrous.

“What, you’re not having enough fun with stealing from me?”

“Oh, no, it’s plenty fun. But business-wise, it seems smarter to keep you on my side and not antagonize you. We both want to make money, don’t we?”

“Why me?”

She seems to contemplate something for a moment and searches some kind of confirmation in his face before giving him an answer. “You have connections in South-East Asia and I need merchandise moved there. Your product is high in quality, low in risk and you know your basic business. It could benefit both of us.”

“Why shouldn’t I just say _screw you_? You already stole from me, and didn’t give a fuck about any business arrangements then. You cost me an entire shipment which I couldn’t get back.”

“I am the least of your worries if the Grounders think you’ve done something to offend them. You know how they are, all hot air and traditions and _the ties that bind_. You need my protection and I need your trade. It’s a clear win-win.”

He knows that she makes an excellent case but. He’s been alone in this game for over a year and he’s good. He’s got the contacts and the money, he doesn’t take unnecessary risks, including striking deals with other families because this is how solo suppliers get dragged under and then left to rot.

Clarke Griffin knows nothing about that because this isn’t her life but he must admit that she has a point, especially since he doesn’t want any of his merchandise to be destroyed by the Grounders again. Their connections are stronger than any business deal anyone could ever strike and if they have decided he is their enemy, he probably needs the extra protection.

So in the history of making stupid decisions, he is pretty confident this will rank right up there as he says “Okay.”

“Brilliant. Bring your chemist tomorrow and we’ll figure all this out.”

“My chemist?”

The look she bestows upon him is more than condescending. “Come on, Blake, I know you think you’re this hotshot solo artist but we both know you have a chemist with you to check the quality of what you’re getting, so don’t insult my intelligence by claiming otherwise.”

She downs the _lambanóg_ in one smooth go and for a brief second, he is distracted by the movement of her throat but averts his gaze before she catches him.

Still, she smirks knowingly as she stands up and smooths her dress down, not making it any easier for him to avoid staring at her legs instead.

“See you tomorrow then.”

Definitely the stupidest decision he’s ever made.

So the next day, he takes Jasper and Miller with him, loads his gun and heads out to the neutral territory she had proposed that morning.

Her car is already there when he arrives three minutes early and he just knows she derives some sort of enjoyment from upping him anywhere she possibly can.

She gets out, alone, and so does he. They might be cooperating but this is still shaky ground and he is not under any delusion that he can actually trust her with anything, least of all his business secrets and associates.

“I hope you didn’t come here to waste my time.”

“Likewise, princess.”

They measure each other with matching silent gazes for a moment before she gives in and gestures towards the car, immediately followed by a short dark-haired man exiting.

“This is my chemist, Monty.”

Bellamy opens his mouth to respond but before he can do so, he hears his own car door opening and Jasper’s “Monty!?” rings out across the otherwise silent warehouse.

In a bizarre turn of events, Clarke’s chemist stares at Jasper with his mouth slightly open and Jasper stares back.

Monty recovers first. “You’re supposed to be in South Africa!”

“And you’re supposed to be helping your grandmother in Incheon!”

He growls slightly at whatever is going on in front of his eyes. “What the fuck, Jasper?”

Jasper startles and seems to regain his situational awareness. “Uh, Monty and I went to college together.”

“And we were best friends but apparently you’ve been lying to me. A drug operation, really, Jasper?”

“Oh, yeah, that is rich, Mr. Chemist! You work for the Griffins!”

Jasper notices Clarke’s inquisitive glare a moment later and his voice becomes much calmer. “I mean, hello, nice to meet you, Miss Griffin.”

“She is not your elementary school teacher, Jasper.” Bellamy’s voice is low and dangerous and Jasper watches him with big eyes but doesn’t say anything else.

“Well, this is fucking adorable but can you two get it together so we can start actually doing business or do you need to catch up first?” Clarke’s voice is slightly amused but at least she has not forgotten why they are meeting in the first place.

“Right. So, should we do this then?”

Jasper makes a face at Monty but catches Bellamy’s menacing glare and pulls out his tablet, effectively switching the conversation to chemicals he has no interest in knowing about. Clarke watches Monty and Jasper compare notes before coming to stand next to Bellamy.

“Well, this is a fantastic start.” There is a tinge of irony in her voice but she seems more amused than upset.

“Heartwarming, isn’t it?”

“At least we don’t have to worry about them working together.”

“We might have to stop them from organizing sleepovers though.”

She gives him an astonished look. “Did you just make a joke?”

Bellamy shrugs but he’s silently pleased that she appreciated his quip for reasons he doesn’t want to contemplate.

“This might be the start of a beautiful business arrangement after all, Blake.”

He definitely does not acknowledge the fact that she makes a _Casablanca_ reference like it’s an everyday occurrence.

They fit together remarkably well, to both of their surprise. Clarke has Harper calculate the most efficient ways of moving the drugs in the States – something Bellamy had always been lacking slightly – and he arranges meetings Clarke asks for with his contacts. Monty and Jasper work on perfecting formulas for an original synthesized product which would lessen the burden of the loads coming from the Philippines and do so without any major arguments. There are sleepovers though, and Bellamy is pretty sure that Miller is becoming sweet on Monty because he’s never before offered to be security for Jasper when he goes to meet Monty.

Clarke continues to piss him off from time to time, with her insistence that she always knows best and he continues to call her _princess_ when he wants to infuriate her. Overall, it simply works.

Until Octavia invites him to dinner with her and her boyfriend – a word he never wanted to hear coming out of her mouth – and he finds himself sitting across the table from Lincoln, the head of security for the Grounders.

“Nice to meet you, you must be Octavia’s brother. I’m Lincoln.” They shake hands with a courteous smile but he knows that Lincoln recognizes him and proceeds to act otherwise. Octavia has no idea what his antiquities trading business is really a front for and he would very much like to keep it that way.

He stares at Lincoln and tries to figure out the endgame while the other man tells him a bunch of lies about being a freelance artist and Octavia beams at him with a smile that could rival the sun, and all through it knows that his little sister’s heart is going to be broken very soon.

When she finally excuses herself from the table – and mouths _be nice_ at him from over Lincoln’s head – the tension breaks.

“I did not know, man, I swear.”

“Didn’t know what?”

“I didn’t know she was your sister, alright, not until you walked in here and I had to pretend like I wasn’t surprised that her history nerd and late Byzantine antiquities expert of a brother Bell is actually my friendly neighborhood drug dealer Bellamy Blake.”

“ _Hey._ ” His tone is sharp because how fucking dare he. “A freelance artist? You better get up and walk away really fast and never look back, or you will find out just how friendly I can be.”

Lincoln’s eyes darken slightly. “I care about Octavia and I would never leave her like that.”

“Oh, yeah? What about when she finds out what you really are? Do you think she would like to know how many heads you have bashed in or just what you freelance in?”

He looks slightly put off at his description but that’s what he is, an enforcer who will enforce whatever he needs to.

“Then I guess we can both hold information about each other hostage, huh? Don’t pretend like you have some higher ground here, Bellamy Blake.”

Octavia returns in that moment and they fall back into their pretense of not knowing each other but all the same time, Bellamy feels the rage burning inside him. His little sister and the fucking enforcer of the Grounders, the same people who have been trying to mess with his goods for months now.

He is still furious when he goes home and hits up three shots of Patrón because the image of Lincoln with his arm around Octavia’s shoulders and the kiss he dropped in her hair when they were walking away seems to be burned into his retinas.

It doesn’t help that when he arrives to meet with Clarke the next morning, she is accompanied by a guy he’s never seen before, with shaggy brown hair and a sparkle in his eyes, who stands way too close to her for his comfort.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Be nice, Blake.”

The guy smiles at him like he’s made of solid gold. “Ever heard of spacewalking?”

“What about it?”

Of course he knows, he isn’t stupid. Spacewalker is the hot new drug which has been spreading like wildfire and which no one seems to be able to connect to a clear distributor. It’s supposed to make you feel like you’re walking in space, hence the incredibly creative name, and apparently this guy with his shirt collar turned up and a perpetual smile on his face know something about it.

“Hi, Finn Collins. I invented spacewalking.”

He stares at the hand he offers and looks at Clarke instead. “Somebody better give me a fucking explanation.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “We need a new supplier because the Grounders are taking some of our territory and if we get this spacewalking drug for ourselves, we will gain the upper hand over them again.”

“Get out. We need a word.”

He does not like Clarke discussing business in front of someone they barely know.

Finn raises his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, sure, I’ll wait outside. And also, I think we need a better name than spacewalker – I’ll think of something.”

Clarke’s gaze follows him out with something akin to amusement and interest and it is enough to ignite the dormant fury in Bellamy.

“What the fuck, Griffin? You invite someone I don’t know into _our_ business and then you basically tell him all of our deals? Have you completely lost it?”

Clarke only blinks once but there is sheer determination in her eyes. “Have you lost _your_ mind? Don’t you know how business works? He is bringing us his product which everyone is already using and we have the chance to take it under control. Maybe you just can’t see a great business opportunity when presented.”

“And where does he get this from? Nobody has any idea how it works and I am not willing to sell anything I can’t vouch for, you know that.”

“He has connections in Colombia, okay? As you can maybe understand, he is not in a mood to share too much but I think we need to capitalize on it.”

“I don’t do business with people I don’t know. I don’t trust him.”

“Do you trust me?”

She blindsides him with her question. Because yes, they’ve been working together for months now and it’s been good, and they only fight every other Tuesday about whether the distribution should be more focused on old users or newcomers and that Monty and Jasper should just get it together and stop mixing together chemicals which don’t transform into drugs they can actually sell.

But he’s told her about Octavia – and she glares threateningly at Lincoln on his behalf who continues to circle around his sister despite his best efforts to deter the man – and he knows that when Jake Griffin died, she took over the empire not because she wanted to but because her mother couldn’t handle it and took off.

So does he trust her?

“Yes.”

She smiles, pleased with his answer. “Then trust me to trust Collins. Let’s do this deal.”

He’s found in himself the weakness of being unable to say no when she looks at him with those blue eyes and this is fucking dangerous and this is why he never works with a partner or makes deals.

But so far, he only nods and lets out a non-committal huff.

Collins starts hanging around after that a lot and Bellamy knows it’s not because he wants to keep an eye on the merchandise or take any interest in the trade routes. He mainly talks to Clarke, brings her flowers and spends too much time with her for Bellamy’s liking but it’s not his life to live so whatever Clarke sees in Collins, he grudgingly accepts.

After all, it’s not like it’s any of his business.

The drug, thankfully, sells like magic and they expand their territory, even claiming some back from the Grounders. Bellamy sometimes sees Anya when she carefully and with clear intent walks into his bar and sits across the room from him, surrounded by those closest to her – Indra, Lexa, _Lincoln_ – and he knows she is just trying to unnerve him. But their goods remain untouched while he is in cahoots with Clarke and so he doesn’t pay the Grounders any attention.

When Clarke starts sleeping with Finn – and he knows because he almost catches them once and that is a sight he never wants to see again – he hooks up with Roma again, though those two things are definitely not connected to each other whatsoever. Roma is nice and sweet and distracting enough to let him forget about the business for a little while.

So when he walks into a meeting one morning in a relatively peaceful mood and discovers Clarke with a bruised cheek, he feels like he’s just been hit on the head with a hammer.

“What the fuck happened, Clarke?”

She tries to smile but it comes off pained. “Turns out Finn’s girlfriend has a mean right hook and a policy to hit first, ask later, which is an excellent policy, by the way.”

While he stares at her, uncomprehending, she takes the icepack in her hand and touches it gently to her cheek. “Oh, and turns out that Finn has a girlfriend who runs a Colombian drug cartel.”

Yeah, there is nothing left of his peaceful mood now.

He pries the story out of her in bits and pieces but finally puts together so much that Raven Reyes – said Colombian drug cartel owner – had finally managed to leave Colombia after her operation was overthrown by rivals and she had been stuck in a forest waiting for her escape for two months. Only to come back to the US and discover that Finn, her boyfriend and business partner, had thought she had died and had decided to move on.

“So, in the end, I was the other woman. What the fuck, Bellamy.”

She sounds tired and defeated and bitter and he is definitely going to kill Finn Collins.

“Look…I’m sorry.”

He stares at her for a moment because what could she be apologizing for?

“I asked you to trust Finn and I was wrong. So I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t really have the energy to be angry with her, so he thinks she shouldn’t be saying sorry and all of this is because of one fuckboy who just couldn’t keep it in his pants. He isn’t quite sure how to convey that surge of protectiveness that’s rising up in him or the violence which wants to be unfurled and unleashed on Finn.

Instead, he awkwardly pats her shoulder. “It’s okay, Clarke. We all make mistakes.”

Neither comment on the fact that he calls her by her first name for the first time but they both notice.

A week later, there is a gorgeous woman sitting in Clarke’s office when he goes in for their meeting.

“Another stray, Griffin?” He’s in a mood because Roma said they shouldn’t do their thing anymore and because Octavia is talking about moving in with Lincoln and he’s just about had it with the surprises.

“This is Raven.”

He stares at Finn’s ex-girlfriend and she stares back. “So you’re Collins’ psycho ex who decked Clarke.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You want to defend her honor or something?”

“Nah, I heard you have a mean right hook.”

She nods and bares her teeth in an approximation of a smile. “I want to replace Finn in your business. After all, spacewalker is actually my drug and the chemist who made it still works for me.”

“Why do you want to be in business with us?”

“It brings in money. I like money.”

She looks at Clarke who’s been silent for this exchange, watching them with eyes which seem to say too much. “Also, she’s cool.”

“You’re not going to kill her because she slept with your boyfriend?”

“No, my ex-boyfriend was the dick who couldn’t keep _his_ dick in his pants. Clarke’s too cool to give up.”

Clarke smiles quietly and approvingly.

“Fuck it then. You can’t be worse than Finn.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to write more of this story but I will have to stop it at this point and leave it as a possible-maybe-in-the-future-multi-chapter.


End file.
